


Changing Stripes

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Bi!Fitz, Bi!Simmons, Deliberately Unspecified Endgame, F/M, FitzHunter - mentioned, FitzMack - mentioned, FitzSimmons - mentioned, FitzSkye - mentioned, FitzWard - mentioned, Gen, M/M, Multi, Pan!Simmons, Unspecified Endgame, canon compatible, in which everyone is bi and the points don't matter, some minor internalised homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A journey of Fitz encountering and coming to terms with his bisexuality, from Academy era through to approx S3 canon era.</p><p>-</p><p>Note: His platonic relationship with Jemma comes up a lot, as well as romantic potential/crushes on: Ward, Skye, Mack, Hunter, and Jemma herself. However, while I intend to align this fic with the general vicinity of canon, I will be leaving the endgame ship(s) deliberately ambiguous. You are welcome to follow it through to its canon conclusions, or to other endgame ships of your choosing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt: "Fitz and Simmons talk about their sexualities at the Academy."
> 
> Based on my HCs that Simmons is a pansexual princess and Fitz is in denial about his bisexuality, this fic was born and turned into a short multichap. I hope you like it!

“I think that guy’s checking you out,” Simmons whispered, raising her eyebrows scandalously and biting her lip.

“Who, Brian?” Fitz looked over his shoulder to check. “We’re- we’re just friends, there’s no reason he would – why would anyone check me out?”

He raised his beer to his lips before he could stick his foot any deeper into his mouth, and wondered if maybe he had been spending too much time around Simmons; he was starting to pick up her ridiculously advanced ability to dig holes in awkward situations. Or had he always done that?

“Okay,” Simmons snorted. “I’m just saying, I don’t think he’d be a bad catch. He’s fourth in physics, _second_ in coastal marine bio if you can believe it, but he’s got a mechanic’s license too, and a pilot’s license I think. _And_ he’s a volunteer firefighter, so…”

“And he’s got a pet snake,” Fitz added, unaware of Simmons suggestive expression until he crinkled his nose in disgust and turned back to face her. At this point, seeing it, his jaw dropped, scandalised.

“I’m just saying,” Simmons insisted. “He probably has a fairly decent set of abs. I don’t know, I just, y’know, I’d take an opportunity to see for myself, if such an opportunity ever presented itself.”

She shrugged surreptitiously and raised her beer bottle to her lips, watching a red blush make its way over Fitz’ face like cordial spilling into water.

“Simmons!” he spluttered. “Stop it! I’m not – I’m not _interested_ in…in… How would you like it if I went around saying _you_ were –“

“But I am!” she interrupted, grinning broadly as he stopped his stammering mess of a sentence mid-word.

“What?”

“I like girls.” She shrugged, beaming as her eyes danced across the room. “I mean who wouldn’t, really.”

“But- what about Michael? Troy – Toby – whatever his name was? Andrew?”

Simmons raised an eyebrow.

“What about Charlie? Sofia? Venomous Species of the Pacific Honours Conference, last year. Mhmm.”

Simmons purred at the memories, letting her gaze drift. Fitz groaned, and covered his face with his hands.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, not so much wondering about her sexuality, as about her apparent need to constantly stir him up about his sensual squeamishness. Simmons took his comment to be regarding the former – or perhaps, she was just continuing the stir.

“Hotness is hotness,” she explained. “And if you know what you’re doing…”

“Alright, stop.”

Fitz dragged himself back to a sitting position, and took another large mouthful of beer. He prepared himself for a lecture on the gender binary and the fruitlessness thereof, but it didn’t come.

“Questions?” Simmons wondered.

A waitress came over at that moment, and apologised for interrupting as she set a bottle of beer down in front of Fitz.

“From Brian,” she said, pointing over Fitz’ shoulder in case he didn’t know who Brian was. Fitz looked, following the waitress’ finger, and Brian waved. Fitz nodded back his appreciation and turned back to find that the waitress had already disappeared. He stared down at the beer bottle and for a moment, wondered – but then he was distracted by Simmons, who had propped her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, staring at him dreamily, mocking him. She stuck her tongue out as she abandoned her position, since he didn’t seem willing to talk about it. ( _Yet,_ she promised herself.)

“So, questions?” she repeated.

Fitz looked around the room, and after a beat, settled on the one at the top of his mind.

“Are you telling me,” he asked, “that you could have gone after anyone – _anyone_ in this room! And you picked _Milton?”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz deliberates approaching the Academy's LGBT+ department at Student Orientation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand: bi!Fitz coming to terms with his sexuality. This story will deal with a fair bit of internalised homophobia as basically that (and heteronormativity ofc) is what Fitz will have to overcome. Other than that, it'll be fairly light, no massive depression-inducing existential crises or anything. It's looking at having around 5 chapters, but we'll see. If anyone has any requests for scenes or particular problems for him to encounter, including any that might have to be separated from this fic, fire away!

Orientation came around again, and once again was characterised – to Fitz’ disdain – by being dragged around the O-Day stalls by a very enthusiastic Jemma Simmons. He much preferred to stay in, and just find the clubs he liked online or by email or in a student magazine. Maybe he’d attend a sundowner or two without much convincing, but a large, crowded, festival-style event like this one was not really his speed.

“Free food, Fitz!” Simmons repeated, for the umpteenth time, as if individually wrapped fruit chews could placate him. In her defense, they were working well so far, but that was because he had yet to find a lemon one.

He got a moment’s respite when, renewing their membership for the astrophysics club, one of the students attending the stall called on him to go over a design. Simmons flitted off somewhere like she was running out of time, and Fitz followed the student’s directions, deeper into the tent, to where the noise and brightness of the crowd was mercifully reduced.

Fitz sat there for some time, explaining and advising one project after another. Some of the students qualified their requests with an “I’m sorry,” or “you’re sure you don’t mind?” and Fitz shrugged and nodded because in truth, sharing his (albeit limited) knowledge about snakes or the qualities of paper would have been an improvement on being dragged around the dull-roaring O-Day festivities. Sharing his knowledge and his love of engineering barely felt like a favour. It was the opposite, even; like a gift to him, to see so many others like him, with passion and intelligence, trying to improve the world in whatever little way they saw fit.

It was mid-afternoon when the stream of students finally slowed. One of the stall attendants handed Fitz a plate of sushi and a beer.

“Thanks, man,” they cheered, slapping him on the back. “You can head off now if you like, I don’t think anyone else is coming. Crowd’s thinning out there.”

“Thanks. Give them my email, if anyone asks?”

“Sure.”

Fitz scribbled down his student number on one of the napkins from the sushi, and left the stall, feeling quite satisfied with his earnings from the day. He looked around for Simmons, but could not see her. She’d probably got caught up at the aviation club or something.

Now that the crowd was substantially thinner, and the most obnoxious promotional gimmicks had disappeared, Fitz found himself smiling. This was much more pleasant. A warm sun and cool breeze balanced each other out, and he could move at his own pace, and the sound in his ears was not just a dull roar. Searching for Simmons, and enjoying his late lunch, he took his time wandering the passages of stalls. He signed up to a few – robotics, aeronautics – and waved on others, but without clamouring for his attention, the whole process was that much more pleasant.

Then, suddenly, Fitz was ambushed by discomfort when he rounded the corner to see, at the end of the row, the somehow familiar rainbow striped pattern of the Pride Flag. The attendants of the stall were occupied; one in conversation, one on their phone, and the third in the back of the stall, digging out some promotional material or something. He drifted closer to it slowly, hesitant. He would have liked to say that he had not thought much about Simmons’ suggestion in the Boiler Room that he let Brian take him out, but ever since that conversation, he’d hardly been able to look at the man. He felt a burning sense of shame, for being so awkward about it, and he wished there was some way of apologising without feeling like any more of a jerk than he already was, so he kept his mouth shut and tried to continue with tolerable politeness, in the hopes that Brian would understand he was dealing with his own issues, not outward-orientated ones.

“There’s no need to be shy about it, Fitz,” Simmons had assured him one day, after he had confessed this awkwardness to her. “Explore it. Once you feel comfortable in yourself _– either way_ – you’ll feel more comfortable around him.”

But Fitz couldn’t bring himself to “explore,” as she so delicately put it. What did she expect him to do, just go pick up a guy? Even if he could do that – which was ridiculous, look at him – even if he could, hypothetically, stumble upon somebody who was interested, what if he really didn’t end up feeling anything after all? What if his nerves were not denial or attraction talking, but just discomfort, plain and simple, about being labeled incorrectly – not to mention, labeled with so many negative social consequences he did not need. Aside from fueling the Academy’s rumour mills for a good decade, he couldn’t help but feel like he would have been lying to whomever it was who had taken an interest in him. If only there was some way of knowing, without getting anyone’s feelings involved.

(But then, how could you run a test to determine something about feelings, without getting feelings involved?)

Fitz cast his eye over the selection of booklets the table had out for perusal: one was a flyer about social events; one was about gender; and one on attraction. On the cover, simplified, toilet-door-style figures showed to boys holding hands, and two girls. The cover read: _How to Tell if You’re Gay._ It looked inviting enough to anyone else, but Fitz wrung his hands. He wasn’t gay, at least not completely, and that wasn’t just the defensiveness talking: in mind and body, he was very much attracted to women. Whatever attraction he – _Simmons_ – thought he might feel toward men was something entirely different. Something he very much doubted that booklet would cover.

“Hi.” The stall attendant smiled invitingly, and gestured to the array of pamphlets, pens and badges they had on display. “Can I help you with anything?”

For a second, he wanted to ask for an email, or an office number, or something, but then he realised his jaw was flailing, and he was already shaking his head.

“No, thanks,” he said, and smiled a strained smile as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz has a crush on Ward. *don't pass it on*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write this story for ages so I've got a few ideas but if anyone has any requests for problems/situations/scenes for him to encounter, including any that might have to be separated from this fic, fire away! Again, includes internalised homophobia and sexual references.

 

Semester ended, classes changed, and the issue of Brian’s interest and Fitz’ potential sexual preferences faded to the back of his mind. Unlike Simmons, he found dating to be an unnecessary hindrance on his time and effort, more likely to result in anxiety or at least boredom, rather than the relaxation and refreshment Simmons seemed to get out of it. Romantic endeavours faded from his mind and tumbled down his priority list as projects, scholarships, interviews and eventually teaching bundled themselves into his timetable. With these professional and academic blinders on, the question of his sexuality became first irrelevant, and then forgotten.

And then he met Ward.­

It didn’t feel so awkward anymore, without the school environment and the churning rumour mill looming over him. With so much less pressure, Fitz found that his eyes occasionally wandered Ward’s body, but he was able to see it far more objectively. It was probably jealousy, he decided, or at least appreciation for a physical form that was undeniably superior to his own, and must have taken considerable effort to sculpt and maintain in that superiority. Jealousy and appreciation. Those could coexist, right?

Maybe.

(He was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to cause erections though.)

It was just all the changes, he tried to tell himself, as he wrenched the cold tap several cycles toward full-boar. It was just the new diet and altitude and nerves and the whole situation to which his body was trying to adjust. It most definitely had nothing to do with the dream he was starting to remember in flashes – flashes of skin, mostly, and an intimidating amount of heavy breathing.

“Morning.”

Ward strolled into the bathroom, and dropped his towel and toiletries onto the bench. Fitz yelped, and shoved his face into the stream of water. Ward laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“You nearly done?” he asked. Then, “is that cold water?”

Ward did a double take, and Fitz scrambled to turn off the tap, before realizing that doing so provided no explanation or answer to Ward’s question.

“Uh.” Fitz was glad for the obstructed view between them as he looked around for an explanation that was not related to the (now mercifully somewhat reduced) problem in his nether regions. “Uh, yeah. It’s-s-s the healthiest shower. Good for your hair n s-skin.”

Fitz bit his lip to stop himself stammering, and crossed his arms. Now he was stuck standing in the cold air, with even colder water having now chilled him down to the bone, so that his teeth were quite literally chattering.

Ward laughed.

“You know, they make product for that these days.”

Normally, Fitz would retort with some quip about how yes, he did know, and in fact Simmons had been instrumental in perfecting hair gel. Which she hadn’t been, but Ward didn’t need to know that. Or start a rant about how gold-infused skincare was a horrendous waste. But at present, he was too preoccupied by trying to figure out how to get to his towel without slipping or seeing Ward and potentially beginning his whole problem anew. (What had Ward been wearing in the dream? He hadn’t been wearing it for long. Did Fitz really need a biologically accurate image of his abdominals to adjust the dream for tonight? For a moment – before the furious blush took over his face and thoughts – that didn’t sound too bad).

“Watcha doing in there, shaving your legs?” Ward wondered, tapping on the barrier. “Come on, man.”

With a slapping sound, he sent Fitz’ towel over the barrier. Thanking his lucky stars, Fitz wrapped himself in it and shot out of the room like a bullet, not trusting himself and his supremely awkward mind and body to stay for half a second longer than strictly necessary.

His panic subsided as he put on the same old clothes in the same old room. It was a reassuring reminder that one bizarre night didn’t have to change anything much at all. But it was also a reminder of one other, apparently bizarre instance of these feelings…and a prompt to wonder if these were the only ones.

Before his mind could set to spinning, he went to knock on Simmons’ door. He was of half a mind to tell her – to ask for her advice or help. _I think I might have a crush on Ward. I had a dream about Ward last night._ There were a hundred and one ways to put it, and none of them sounded quite right. (Innocent enough, perhaps? _Acceptable enough,_ he couldn’t help adding.) He still hadn’t decided on the proper wording when Simmons pulled her door open.

“Fitz?” She frowned at the colour of his face: unusually red in the cheeks, and pale almost to grey at the line of his hair. “Are you okay?”

_I think I think Ward is hot._

He baulked, and for a second, words escaped him.

“I…yeah…” he managed eventually. “Breakfast?”

Simmons smiled, and bounced out into the hallway, already recounting a paper she had read the previous night on preserving coral species in The Great Barrier Reef. Fitz nodded along, and swallowed down the panic-inducing voices. One bizarre night didn’t mean anything. Life went on. And what a great life, in this moment, it was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz has a crush on Skye, and Simmons ships it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still accepting Pride/LGBT+ prompts so if you've got something to request, comment or message me (theclaravoyant) on tumblr!

 

Simmons sat down opposite Fitz, and bit back a grin as he almost unconsciously moved, so that she was not blocking his line of sight to Skye, who was in the corner, talking to Ward. Skye laughed with suspicious enthusiasm, and Simmons pursed her lips.

“I think you’ve got some competition there,” she remarked, and watched a salmon pink blush sweep up Fitz’ neck and over his cheeks.

“Com- Competition?” At the last minute, he switched from outraged and defensive, to casual – a little too last minute to be convincing.

“She likes Ward,” Simmons pointed out, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. “Who wouldn’t though, I mean, his proportions are _basically_ the Golden Ratio in a person.”

Fitz’ jaw flapped, unable to object to that. Mercifully, his anatomy seemed to be calming down on that front, now that it had realised his brain was rejecting it as an option. (And possibly, because he was mildly allergic to people who couldn’t construct a proper sentence.) Plus, he had a new object of infatuation now: Skye. Right from the beginning he had sensed the presence of a potential bond, what kind he hadn’t been sure, and by now it had blossomed into a full-blown crush. She was unconventional, a bit of a loner, smart and sweet…and undeniably, extremely attractive.

“Skye’s not bad either,” Simmons mused, as if reading his mind. “Very symmetrical, slim, excellent musculature for her figure and frame. And there’s something very powerful about the way her eyes stand out, don’t you think?”

At that moment, Skye glanced in Fitz’ direction. She waved at him, and his blush intensified as he hid back behind Simmons. Fitz picked at his food, blush refusing to subside as he contemplated the contrast between the dark-and-stormy sensual gaze he had been imagining, and the innocent friendly sparkle he had been met with.

“She is very attractive, Fitz,” Simmons insisted. “It’s okay to think about that, you know. It’s not like you’re hollering at her from across the street or some nonsense like that.”

“Simmons!” Fitz hissed. “Shh!”

“She can’t hear us from over there, don’t worry. And besides, I think you two would be very compatible. You’re both into tech, and environmental justice, and movies of…varying quality. You’re both terrible eaters, too. And stubborn. And yet, you’re a big grump and she’s a scrappy ray of sunshine. It’s brilliant.”

“You really think so?”

Simmons nodded.

“Of course. An appropriate balance of similarities and differences does wonders for effective relationships. I can’t speak as to the long-term element of things but I’m sure the two of you could have a very mentally, emotionally, and physically fulfilling relationship.”

“Except that she’s oblivious,” Fitz muttered.

“She wouldn’t be, if you would just _talk_ to her.”

“If it’s that easy why don’t _you_ talk to her Miss ‘She Is Very Attractive’-“

“Oh, the _voice-“_ Simmons rolled her eyes as he continued to list – and butcher – things she had said or implied about Skye.

“’What Leather Jacket Fetish’?”

“Oh, _I_ have the leather jacket fetish now. Okay.” Simmons snorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Simmons shrugged, but eyed Fitz knowingly.

“I’m just saying,” she remarked. “Skye.  _Ward._ You have a type.”

Fitz spluttered.

“How did you-“

“Badasses.”

“I don’t-“

“With great asses. If I do say so myself.”

“That-“ Fitz frowned. “That saying doesn’t work like that. You’re not on the list. You only say-so-yourself to stop yourself sounding vain when you’re praising a group that you’re in.”

“You don’t think I have a great ass?”

With a pout, Simmons looked over her shoulder, as if to check. Fitz, thankful he was not expected to come up with an answer to her question, shook his head and turned his attention back to his food. A moment later, he was interrupted by Simmons’ quiet voice, saying:

“By the way, if you don’t hurry up and ask her out, I think I will.”

Any response Fitz could have had to this – about the extra competition, the salacious wink, or even how did Simmons know Skye would be interested and was she worried about outing herself – all of it disappeared from his mind in a puff of smoke when Skye dropped into the seat beside Simmons.

“You guys mind if I join?” Skye asked. “Ward’s gone off to do pinky crunches or something.”

“Sure. ‘Course, yeah.” Fitz adjusted his chair, and pushed the salt and tomato sauce across the table toward Skye. 

Simmons kicked him under the table.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey pays Fitz a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time! I got stuck on how to proceed, and yes I eventually gave up, but recent prompts have given me the inspiration and encouragement to give this fic a conclusion. Thank you very much to the people who prompted me, and to everyone who has been enjoying and supporting this fic. I love it a lot, and I am so glad to have found it in my heart to round it off. <3
> 
> We time jump to early Season 3, otherwise we'll be here forever, but I've done my best to keep it light in the spirit of the first few chapters. The 6th and, as far as I am currently planning, final chapter, will be released in the next few days. Thanks again, and enjoy <3

Joey wasn’t typically one to get involved in other people’s lives, especially the intimate parts, but he saw something of his old self in Fitz sometimes, and for some reason - maybe it was Daisy’s sense of mission rubbing off on him - he felt like he should do something about it. Nothing too elaborate, just a nudge in the right direction; just a little something like the push he got, when he had needed it, to look at his life and his heart and his mind and line it all up for himself. So he set himself a little research project, until he had enough observations and anecdotes to back his instinct, and to hold Fitz’s attention if he shied away; until he was sure, at least as sure as he could be without being Fitz, and until the only question left was when to broach the subject. With Fitz so focused on Jemma’s rescue from the mysterious rock situation, it sometimes felt almost cruel to contemplate intervening, but Joey knew more than most, that sometimes the threat of a spiraling, all-consuming depression presented a man with a prime opportunity to take stock of himself.

So it was that Joey decided to simply seize the day. 

“Hey, Fitz,” he greeted, inviting himself into the lab, where Fitz was frowning at his work, pencil shavings littering his desk, a cold tea only half finished sitting nearby. He shook his head and looked up as Joey approached, belatedly pulling himself out of his own head. 

“Hey, Joey,” he greeted. “Sorry, I’m a little distracted. Can I help you?” 

“Actually,” Joey began, “I was thinking maybe I could help you.” 

“I’m… not sure that’s a good idea,” Fitz replied, as reluctant to think about the fruitlessness of his mission as he was about the possibility of having a volatile heat source at his side in the vicinity of several combustible chemicals. “Don’t Daisy and Coulson want you on something- something else?” 

“I didn’t mean in the lab,” Joey clarified. “I meant something personal.” 

“Oh.” 

“And judging from that look on your face, you already know what I mean.” 

Fitz cleared his throat, and mumbled along the lines of _I don’t know what you’re talking about._ He turned back to his work, and picked up the pencil, but seemed to have lost his train of thought. And forgotten that the nib had long since snapped off the pencil, and he’d given up on it hours ago. 

“I think you do, though,” Joey continued calmly. He sat down in the chair beside Fitz, his own nerves starting to shake his hands and claw at his throat. But he could tell that Fitz was listening, and so he pushed on. “Let me put something to you. Some feelings you might relate to.

“You grew up in a conservative household. Hopefully one full of love, but one where you weren’t exposed to a lot outside of the norm in terms of love and marriage and family structure. You never knew any queer kids growing up – none that you knew of anyway – and you never saw it as a possibility until one day, later in your life, maybe at college, something happened. You felt something, maybe some guy just winked at you, and something inside of you asked a question.

“You ignored it. You had another one-off. An inconvenient boner, maybe a sex dream, and you thought, it must be the stress, the strangeness, the objective aesthetic appreciation – anything but ‘that.’ Every time, you told yourself it was an anomaly, even though, while I’m talking about all this right now, you’re counting how many anomalies there have been, in your head. Aren’t you?” 

“I…” Fitz’s lips moved around nothing. His mind felt strangely clear, and yet, he had no answer for Joey other than to marvel at the accuracy. He put down his charade of a pencil and turned in his chair. “How did you know?”

“A lot of guys go through this,” Joey promised. “LGBT people, in general. Even if we’re not in a particularly hostile environment, we don’t have the resources to- you know, to recognise our feelings. It takes longer, it’s messy. With guys, there’s all the macho-fairy stuff to deal with too. And for you it’s probably different again, right? I know you’re in love with this girl, Jemma. I had help like, I didn’t like sex with girls, and I kept wishing the girls I thought I was interested in, were more like the guys I actually was interested in. Being bi, maybe you didn’t have that, I don’t know. Maybe that made it more confusing. But I’m not wrong, am I?”

Fitz frowned. Joey was not wrong, that much was true, but was he right?

“Bi,” Fitz mused. “You think I’m bisexual?” 

“You know about it?” 

“Not much. Not well,” Fitz explained. “I’ve heard about it, I guess. I did a couple Google searches. Chickened out of following it up every time, of course, but you probably know how it goes.” 

“Right.” Joey snorted. “But actually, it’s interesting you say that. A lot of people get hung up on the concept of being attracted to more than one gender. They think they’ve gotta be gay or they’ve gotta be straight, and those are the only two options. If you’re open to a third, that’s gonna make life much easier for you.” 

“Do you think that’s what I am though? I don’t- I don’t even really know if what I’m feeling is… you know…” 

“Gay?” Joey teased, a smile touching his lips. “Okay, let’s put it this way. There’s a difference between appreciating how much a man can lift, and wanting that man to lift _you_.” 

The furious blush that arose in Fitz’s cheeks at this, told both of them as much as they needed to know. 

“Point taken,” Fitz conceded. 

“In all seriousness, though,” Joey insisted, “I can’t tell you who you are. There are a couple more labels that might suit you better, and some people don’t want to label it at all. You don’t have to, either, and you don’t have to let it change anything about your life out here.” He waved an arm through the air, gesturing around the room. Then he gestured to his heart. Swallowed his nerves. “The change is in here. It’s a beautiful thing, whatever happens. Whatever you decide, labels or no labels – but, you know, speaking as someone who’s been where you’ve been, or somewhere close to there, I think the most important thing is recognising it for yourself. Recognising your attraction to men, and having a relationship with it. Of some kind. I don’t wanna tell you how to live, but just… think about it, okay? I think you’ll be surprised what good it does.” 

Voice trembling, Joey stood up and took a deep breath. He had to stay calm these days, and he was getting good at it, but every now and then things risked getting just a little too real. This time, crisis was averted - the metal lab bench was safe - but not a moment after he had jumped to his feet, a couple of lab techs filed into the room. The conversation was over, then, at least for now. Joey gave Fitz a nod and a look that promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. Fitz nodded back, a promise that he would at least think about it, and Joey took his leave. 

Fitz turned back to his work, but his mind was still distracted. What good was another vague promise, after all? Apparently, he’d been thinking about this for a decade already, maybe longer. All those not-so-one-offs. Watching Joey leave, he recalled that day at the orientation fair, when he’d found the queer guild table and hadn’t dared approach it. Looking back on it now, he wondered how he might have felt within himself, or in his relationships with Hunter or Mack or Trip or Ward, or even with Jemma or Daisy, if he’d dared to resolve that question when he’d had the chance. Well, now he did again, and apparently, he had someone personally cheering him on along this awkward personal journey. And he’d had some growth along the way in his lifetime too, in other ways. He’d learnt to start trusting himself, most of all, and to take pride in and stand up for who he was; not who he was expected to be. With this in mind, he picked up a fresh white pencil and, on another blank blueprint sheet, carefully wrote out the word: 

_Bisexual?_

He sat back and looked at it, and blew the air out of his cheeks. 

Then he scribbled the question mark out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now officially complete! Welcome to the super fluffy feel-good conclusion. I hope you have enjoyed it! <3
> 
> This chapter is set early S3, after Jemma's return. It might just be the first post-Maveth fluff in the universe (though there are a few little angsty moments, I promise I make up for them with fluff!!)

“So what’s going on with you?” 

“How d’you mean?” 

Fitz looked over his shoulder, back at Jemma who was lying on the couch. She put a piece of popcorn into her mouth, shrugged, and repeated the question. 

“You know. I was away for months, Fitz. It must have been awful, but I don’t expect you to have been thinking about me the _entire_ time. You must have done something. Learnt something. Bought a shirt? Watched a movie? I don’t know. _Something.”_

“Yeah, nothing much,” Fitz replied with a shrug of his own. He reached for the bowl of popcorn, and Jemma slid it out of his reach with a firm glare. 

“Leopold James Fitz,” she breathed. “First: I was stuck on a desert planet, mostly alone, and it was permanently night time. For six months. You don’t even _know_ what doing nothing is. And second: please get dramatic about something? I need the gossip.”

 _I need to know you didn’t spend the entire six months thinking about nothing but me,_ was what she wanted to say, but their relationship still wasn’t quite what it had once been; still wasn’t quite sure exactly what it was. She had to be careful with it. But she also wanted to let her friend know – because that’s what he still was, no matter what else happened – that she cared about him. She missed him. That, at least, he seemed to get, as he gestured for her to sit up and came to sit up beside her, rather than in front of her on the floor. 

“Something did happen, actually,” he confessed. There was a little sparkle in his eye, but a nervous energy to the way that he moved, the combination of which piqued Jemma’s curiosity. Seeing the words on the tip of his tongue, she held out the popcorn bowl, and he downed a handful as one might drink a shot before revealing big news. He took a deep breath. 

“I came out,” he declared. “Well – I guess I didn’t, technically, come out ‘til just now. You’re the first person I’ve told. Joey knows, sort of, but-“ 

“As what?” Jemma interrupted. 

“Hm?”

“Came out as what?” Her eyes glimmered with pride and excitement. She bit back her instinct to say _I told you so,_ and grinned at him instead. “You never said.” 

“Oh,” he said, and grinned, as the gears in his head stopped grinding; overthinking; qualifying. “I’m bi.” 

Jemma squealed, jostling the popcorn dangerously close to falling out of the bowl. 

“Tell me everything!” she begged. “How did you know? When did you know? Was it Mack? It was Mack wasn’t it. Or was it Hunter… He’s a little roguish, but he’s got that loner-with-a-heart-of-gold air working for him quite well, doesn’t he? I can see you falling for that.” 

Fitz waved her off. “It was lots of things. Ever since the Academy. I just kept telling myself, it was nothing – you know, it was hormones or jealousy or whatever.” 

“Life goals or wife goals,” Jemma added, nodding in understanding.

“- but every time I started to think about it, really think about it,” Fitz continued, “something would happen, and it would go away, or I’d spook myself and hide it. Joey saw through all that, and he sort of- he got me to reflect on all this stuff, the crushes and everything, and I realised that actually… I’ve known about this for a long time. I just wasn’t ready to accept it.” 

Jemma nodded. Her own sexual awakening had come to her rather easily, but she knew a good number of people for whom it had not been so simple, or welcomed. Yet she couldn’t help but spare a moment of solemnity for the messy timing of all this. She found herself wanting to ask, _so what does this mean for us?,_ but of course she already knew. The answer was probably, nothing. Just because Fitz now recognised another side to his romantic and sexual nature, it didn’t change his feelings for her, and it didn’t change the mess they were in. And it didn’t change the fact that he still trusted her enough to tell her first. 

“How do you feel about it now?” she asked instead. 

“Honestly, good,” Fitz replied, then qualified - “Most of the time. I still doubt myself sometimes, or I think, what would Mack say if he caught me staring, you know? Would it change things between us?” 

Seeing that he was starting to fret, Jemma put an arm around Fitz’s shoulder and pulled him close. These were waters she knew well. 

“That’s okay,” she promised. “These are all very normal feelings, and you don’t have to tell Mack – or anyone – if you don’t want to. But he’s a good man and he won’t hate you for it. And, you know, have you ever considered that it could change things in a good way? If you feel like you’re hiding something or lying to him now, coming out might help that. You’ll feel more secure. And… you might even get a date out of it. I don’t know Mack’s situation, of course, but if I were you I wouldn’t let those guns pass me by without letting him know I was on the table.” 

“… That’s a very sexual image.” 

“Yes it is.” Jemma bit her tongue. She was going to enjoy mocking Fitz relentlessly, he always got so flustered when it came to matters of the body, but she had to ease him into it first. “But it’s not just a matter of that, is it? You said you liked the way Mack treats you, with respect, with forwardness, with kindness. You enjoy doing things together. Same taste in cars, same taste in movies; that’s as good a place as any to start. It seems to me you two could build, if you’d pardon the pun, quite the life together – or at least show each other a good time. 

“Or what about Hunter? Now, I _know for a fact_ he likes people of the masculine persuasion. He’s got a nice beard, very rugged, and don’t think I haven’t seen you checking out that ass. From what I’ve heard, he’s also a great softie, underneath all that swagger. You two would get along quite well, I’d imagine. Although, the fights over football would be a problem. He barracks for a different team does he not?” 

Fitz snorted, as if about to start on a rant at the very thought, but then something occurred to him and he smiled to himself. “We play together too, though. Football, I mean. He’s rather good at it.” 

“See?” Jemma nudged him. Fitz laughed.

“Alright, so are you going to set me up with every guy in this place or what?”  
  
“Well, you don’t have many options left as regards the women,” Jemma pointed out. “Daisy’s somewhat taken, apparently; May, while gorgeous, is too old for you; and I’m sorry but Bobbi is just out of your league.” 

“Oh, but right in yours is she?” 

“What?” Now it was Jemma’s turn to blush. 

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Fitz scoffed, smugly taking another handful of popcorn. “You know full well what I’m talking about. You started at her legs when she walked into the lab the first time for a full minute. A _full minute Jemma-“_

“What about you!” Jemma retorted. “I saw you lick your lips when Mack walked out the other day with that tank top and the grease stain on his collarbone-“ 

“You started fake cursing like an old woman from the South the first time you saw Daisy without a top on-“ 

Verbal arguments failing her, Jemma shoved the bowl of popcorn at Fitz. He shoved it back, and she deflected it straight onto the floor, sending popcorn spilling out across the carpet. They paused for a moment in their bickering, and decided they’d best clean it up, so they slithered onto the floor together and crawled around on their hands and knees, dropping popcorn piece by piece back into the bowl. The fight was not over yet though, with Jemma taking this distraction as a chance to have the final word.  

“It’s not like you can talk, Mr ‘let me show you my equipment,’” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Fitz beckoned, and flicked a piece of popcorn at her. It bounced off her shoulder. “Did you have something you’d like to share with the class, Ms ‘well formed and symmetrical’?” 

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma groaned, and threw a handful of kernels at him. 

“Shove off!” he yelped, trying to shield himself against the rain. He reached for the bowl, half-full of their recovered popcorn, and flicked handful after handful in retaliation. Jemma gathered her reserves from what remained on the floor, and the two of them engaged in a highly undignified food-fight until there was nothing left but abandoned corn like fallen snow, and two very giggly super geniuses, catching their breath from laughter for the first time in years.


End file.
